Damned
by Dufferooni
Summary: #5 in my 100 Themes Challenge. "...all five of those times he'd left messages, the last one being somewhere along the lines of: 'Hey Dean, stop nailing a chick and help me, you ass! I'm being mauled by a shapeshift-AHHHHHHHHHH' Rated T for naughty words.


_A/N:__ Whoo, so this is number 5 in my hundred themes challenge and I'm not really sure I should continue posting on or anywhere really seeing the lack of response. I know I screwed up some age brackets a fic or two ago but I'll go back and fix that when I have the patience to re-upload. Takes place WAY back in Season 1 with gawky, always in danger Sammy and save the day big bro Dean. ... I miss those days terribly._

_**Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Supernatural, I only obsessively collect pictures of Jared/Sam andyoureallydidn'tneedtoknowthatMOVINGON!**_

**5. Damned**

Sam's throat rebelled violently against the scream that he couldn't help letting out as his body was thrown onto the bonnet of the Impala: he tasted blood and spat it off to the side. Damn that thing was powerful, not to mention hella _pissed._ Dean hadn't showed his face for ages now, caught up somewhere or another – a bar – doing something or rather – a chick, most probably.

Sam had rung him over five times after meeting the shape-shifter they'd been hunting since they got here, all five of those times he'd left messages, the last one being somewhere along the lines of: _Hey Dean, stop nailing a chick and help me, you fucking ass! I'm being mauled by a shapeshift-AHHHHHHHHHH!. _Sam had to give his brother a little slack, the guy had been doing most of the research this time around – a crazy change if the moose ever saw one – and had headed off a few hours ago saying he needed a break and a drink.

Well, sensing that the brothers were separated and therefore weaker, the shapeshifter – which had ironically been hunting the hunters – had attacked Sammy within the confines of the hotel room. The battle had shifted rather violently through a window and towards the parked Impala outside. During the short breaks the shapeshifter gave him whilst it was recovering from a kick to the head or a particularly violent jab to the stomach, the tallest Winchester had been dialing his brother's phone. Now the shapeshifter was upon him again and Sam's head reeled as blow after blow landed across his face, his body slipping and sliding across the Impala's well-waxed bonnet.

The shapeshifter – in the form of a late 20's, blonde male – decided that smashing the taller Winchester's head against the windshield was more fun and commenced doing so even though Sam was well and truly dazed. Eventually, the glass of the Impala decided it had had enough and caved behind the hunter's head. Glass scraped down Sam's face and neck as he found himself flung into the front bench seat of their travelling home.

Awful crunching noises sounded from under his elbow and crunchy, prickly plastic bit into his arm making the dazed man shake his head and think for a moment as to what that could possibly be when he was in the comfy front seat of a car. Cold realization hit him in the solar-plexus harder than what the shapeshifter had kicked him before; Dean's mullet rock.

"Ohhh… you are so in for it if my brother finds out," Sam muttered, his apparent concussion leaking through his addled brains and making him dizzily start clambering his way out of the car in an attempt to keep up the fight. Finally his phone buzzed in his pocket but Sam ignored it – or more couldn't answer it as he was suddenly flying through the air, back through the window and into the apartment again – and crumpled into a heap as the last smack to his head on the bed post of the room sent him into obnoxious unconsciousness.

The shapeshifter bared it's pearly whites at the hunter and began moving towards the window in order to climb in and finish the job but before it could so much as think about setting a foot in the corner of the windowsill, a shot rang out and piercing, white hot pain sizzled along his arm and nerves like wildfire. Letting out a howl of anguish and misery, the shifter turned to see green eyes almost blazing black with fury and a pearl handled pistol pointed directly at his forehead.

"See that car? Yeah, that's mine," Dean grunted, stepping forward and making the shifter take a step back. "See that windscreen, you cracked it. See those crushed tapes? Those were my favourite albums. See that crumpled heap of gigantor in there, that's my brother, you prick." A shot rang out, clear and echoing in the chill late night air and without so much as a grunt or noise, the shifter fell back dead. Dean glared down at it, his nostrils flaring angrily for a moment before he pocketed the pistol and dived into the hotel room to crouch beside his inert brother.

"Sammy?" A groan pierced the almost too sudden silence and Dean felt panic course down his spine. Sam was too out of it to help him get the hell out of here before the police arrived; two gunshots outside a motel were not easily ignored. In a flurry of thrown clothes and hustling feet, Dean packed their belongings and threw them into the Impala. Sam was a bit harder but he managed to drag his giant brother out the door and into the back seat of the car, folding him in and making sure he was secure before he hurried to the main room of the hotel and checked them out in a last ditch effort to restore normality.

The woman looked shaken but she understood his sudden want to leave – she'd understand it even more when she saw the motel room – and checked him out quickly and easily. By the time Dean got back to his car again, Sam was half stirring in the backseat and was trying to figure out what time it was. As they sped away from the scene, mumbles and slurs made their way up to the older Winchester who narrowed his eyes and tried to understand what was going on without having to make his little brother repeat it and hurt himself even more.

Goddamn it was lucky that damned shapeshifter was dead and he'd had no time to do anything more than what he'd managed to do or he would've plugged a few more bullets into its head just on principal alone. He cast a glance to the side and noticed the crushed tapes that made his heart pull and his guts churn.

"Oh man… those are hard to find nowadays," he muttered, huffing and pressing his foot down harder on the accelerator as the lights of police cars lit up the town behind them.

**End**

_A/N:__ Thanks for reading and reviews are more than welcome and appreciated. Flames will be used to burn the remnants of ghosts at unrest. _


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